Frozen sugar water
by Crazycatscarmen
Summary: Excerpt from journal three, Fiddleford insists on popsicles. Stanford is a little wary. Mostly fluff, a very brief pinch/ mention of how much I hate Stan and Ford's parents. Canon-compliant...I think? I tried.


**I did not make something canon-compliant! I didn't...*sniff*.**

 **I did. Have fun ya weirdos.  
**

* * *

Fiddleford groaned and sat back in the wooden chair. He glanced over to Stanford, who wasn't even using his seat, yet seemed just as lively as when they had first come down to the bunker. He rolled his eyes, that man lived off of complex multi-dimensional theorems.

"Stanferd." Fiddleford sat up, ignoring the pile of papers that fell from his lap as he cracked his back- he was sore from being in one place too long.

"Hmm?" Stanford was still staring at his desk, hands writing faster than seemed physically possible. Fiddleford sighed and rolled his eyes again before moving to Stanford's side, gently pulling on his trenchcoat.

"Hey! What are you-" Stanford looked up into Fiddleford's very unamused face. "oh- what did I do?" Stanford bit his lip nervously, making Fiddleford laugh.

"Ya done nothin' wrong, Stanferd, other than forge' ta take a break e'ery once in 'while." Fiddleford dragged him away to the 'kitchen' which was really more of a room full of unperishable food and a single fridge for what _could_ go bad. Stanford had the fridge so they wouldn't have to eat from the stores when they stayed down in the bunker for any stretch of time. Stanford followed easily enough, but complained,

"I don't need a break- I'm really onto something here! If we could find the right power source-" He drabbled on and Fiddleford listened while he scanned through the fridge for something edible. He brought out two premade sandwiches, unwrapping one and handing it to Ford, who took it on reflex, not really looking at it. Fiddleford glared at him when he wasn't eating it and he soon realized he was supposed to be eating and spoke in between bites. Fiddleford paced as he ate, trying to loosen up a bit before going back to work. He didn't mind binge-working, but Stanford took it to an inhuman extreme.

As Stanford rambled on, Fiddleford found his mind wandering- not for lack of interest, he was just wearing down and found his focus drifting. Was it hot in here? Fiddleford thought it felt hot. He took a deep breath. He wasn't nervous- so that couldn't be it. Perhaps it really was hot down here? Or maybe he was just tired. Goodness, he could really use a lemonade. The summer here wasn't as bad as the ones from where Fiddleford was from, but he didn't indulge himself much here. In fact, he did take note Stanford _never_ indulged in anything. Unless it was, well. Coffee, mostly.

Fiddleford thought about this, his brow furrowing until something came to him and he jumped up with a large smile, interrupting Stanford, who hadn't stopped his spiel the entire time.

"Popsicles!"

Stanford stopped and stared at his friend and associate, who was grinning like a loon. He had been talking about many different things, to be sure, but nothing had _anything_ to do with frozen sugar water.

"Um, what?"

Fiddleford grinned at him and pointed at the fridge. "We should freeze popsicles down here!" He looked positively childlike, almost bouncing in place with enthusiasm. Stanford wanted to laugh, but held his tongue and cocked a brow.

"That still doesn't...why?"

Fiddleford shrugged, "I wan' 'em?"

Stanford looked at the fridge and back to his friend, who was looking at him with eager eyes, waiting for his opinion. Ford smiled.

"I don't see why not."

"Yeehaw!"

Stanford laughed as Fiddleford ran off, possibly to find the ingredients for sugar water. Considering he was such a mother-hen, Fiddleford could act surprisingly child-like at times. It was strange, but Stanford found it endearing.

...

"Okay. What on earth did your parents do to you?"

Fiddleford scoffed as he placed the molasses on the table. "Raised me ta be a respectable gen'leman. Wha' are ya talkin' abou'?"

Gesturing to the jar of molasses, Ford raised a brow. "Molasses? I don't recall that being a necessary ingredient for frozen suga- Popsicles." Fiddleford gaped at him.

"Are ya tellin' me ya ne'er had molasses popsicles? Wha' did ya parents do ta _ya_ ta deny ya such a thing?!"

Stanford shrugged, "We never had popsicles growing up. Why don't we try a less...exotic flavor? Aren't there...I don't know...lemon pops?" Stanford looked a bit uncertain, the expression only growing worse as Fiddleford continued to stare at him in disbelief.

"Stanferd Pines, ya are a piece 'o work."

"I know."

...

A couple hours later and Ford had to concede. Molasses was indeed a wonderful flavor, although he wasn't sure he could handle any more sugar for at least another years. He watched Fiddleford down three cavity-inducing sweets no problem.

"You have an issue."

"I know."

* * *

 **I... have no excuse for this.**

 **Stan: I WAS NOT IN THIS WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!**

 **Ford: You don't have to be in every story, Stanley.**

 **Stan *grumbles and leaves the room. Fiddleford walks in***

 **Fidds: Um...wha's goin' on with Stanley?**

 **Ford: He's a narcissist.**

 **Fidds: Um. :/ Okay then. Oh, look! A story! *reads it as Ford watches for his reaction***

 **Fidds: Ya know, that is fairly accurate to how you work when ya get on a project.**

 **Ford: *crosses arms* Thanks.**

 **Fidds: Don't sass me.**

 **Ford *immediately humbled because Fidds is scary*: Sorry.**

 **Fidds: Apology accepted. Let's go find that robot I lost in the woods the other day...it may or may not be extremely dangerous.**

 **Ford: Fiddleford!**

 **Fidds: Stanford!**

 **lol, that went on way too long. Hope you enjoyed!**


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